


If I Loved You

by Xeen



Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:21:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5123999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xeen/pseuds/Xeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirsten and Cameron have been sleeping together, sort of [post Halloween episode]</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Loved You

_The writers messed up pretty much the timeline of the show already without my help. So I surmised I could just place the Halloween episode whenever and use it to my liking._

_Here you go._

 

 

Everything was going pretty well in Cameron's life lately. He had a great job, he had great friends, and the potential love of his life had spent more nights in his bed that he could count. Well, that was a lie. He could remember every time perfectly. He catalogued them down to a T.

The first time, she came screaming, scared out of her mind because she was stalked by a vivid resurrection of her last sample. Residual emotions were not uncommon in her line of work, except he didn't envision an evil twin could exist. Story for another day. The point is, he didn't know that first night the danger was real. For all he knew, she was standing in his kitchen on the verge of an unexpected meltdown, helpless and shaky, showing obvious symptoms of low blood sugar. Linus might have mentioned numerous times she happened to sleep in Camille's bed when she was upset, so he didn't question her impulse to go to him on account of her roommate current unavailability. To be honest, he did, for a minute. To his defence, he was only human, hence weak. And had no other option than to sleep on his own couch. As much as he tried to convince himself that it was normal and that he shouldn't overthink any of it, of course he did.

When she asked him if he would consider sleeping in the same bed, all doe-eyed and pleading, he rationalized. They were friends, that's what friends do, cuddle together when things go south, don't they? The next morning, she hadn't let go of him. Fisher's call didn't wake her. He had to literally unglue himself from her, and yet she wouldn't open her eyes. She immediately snuggled back against him with a contented smile. God, she was practically purring at some point. Any guy in his right mind would have at least kissed her but he remained a perfect gentleman, keeping his face at a strategic distance by sheer will. She finally opened her eyes, smiled and asked what was the call about. He knew Kirsten doesn't discuss feelings, she doesn't understand them. She acts. Before he could answer, she was off to the bathroom. For someone with temporal problems, her timing was impeccable.

He just shoved this experience under the proverbial rug. Of course, when Fisher found out, thanks to Kirsten, he went into full denial mode.

A couple of days later, he was awaken by a familiar uninterrupted pounding at the door. Seriously pissed, he trudged to the door determined to send her packing. He couldn't possibly let her waltz in his apartment as she pleased, it was becoming a pattern. Ready to rebuff whatever request she was going to throw at him, he made a show of flinging the door open. The sight of her slim body clad in a lacy camisole and cut off sweatpants under a Mexican sweater soothed him instantly. His mind went blank. She barged her way in like a freight train. She was mad at Camille, she said. Half asleep, glasses askew, he listened to her ranting about Camille and Linus going through the whole Kamasutra. Unfortunately, it was some information that he could not unknow. And just on the other side of the wall, a very thin wall, she insisted, what a nerve! He gave her a glass of milk, and went back to bed without a word, dragging her along. She didn't need to be asked twice. She plopped on his bed, scooted over, and arranged the pillows. For a moment, he felt deer caught in the headlights paralyzed. He finally managed to snap out of it, climbed beside her, and pulled the sheets over them, switching the lights off in the same motion. She nestled her head on his chest, cuddling against him with a sigh. The next morning, he was lying behind her, his face buried in her hair, his arm across her breasts, perfectly happy. For a split second that is, just before he realized his body was acting out. He knew if they shared the same bed it was bound to happen. He tried to convince himself it was nothing more than electrical impulses in the brain, perfectly normal when coming out of the REM cycle. He slowly backed away, nurturing the secret hope he would keep his problem in check before she noticed. She woke up with a start. She looked over her shoulder to ask him if he could take her to her place for a change of clothes. Before dashing to the bathroom, she requested pancakes with maple syrup. Mortified, he made the pancakes and even brewed some coffee.

The third time is the charm, so they say. They spent the evening watching old Broadway musicals in each other arms, and basically having a blast. Who knew Carousel could make him cry? To be honest, she cried too, and it was some kind of a bonus. She had come a long way since they first met, he thought before they fell asleep on the couch. They woke up at the same time. His arms hurt from holding her. She gave him a sleepy smile and a peck on the cheek. "I'm so glad it's Saturday," she said, "come on, I need a real bed. We'll sleep in and have brunch later in this place on Sepulveda Boulevard. What do you think?" He thought Christmas had come early this year. Instead, he stroke her arm and followed her to the bedroom, their fingers laced together.

As smitten as he was, he didn't have the nerve to tell her how he felt and face the consequences. They fell into an easy routine. Camille and Linus were pursuing their own without a care in the world, invading her personal space. Odd as it was, she never confronted Camille and just spent more time with Cameron. He was her to-go guy, and he was fine with it. Anybody in their right mind would have called her a tease and say she was just leading him on, but she was Kirsten, she was different. They went to late night movie showings, tried new restaurants, visited galleries and talked. She was great fun to be around, always pumped about everything, like she discovered the world every morning, which was probably the case. She had a witty sense of humour, quite abrupt and quick. She was bright, full of ideas, and man, was she beautiful anytime of the day. The more time they spent together, the less he could come forward. She simply didn't seem to realize he was in love with her. From the looks they gave him, he was pretty damn sure there was a pool going on at the lab about their non-relationship. He didn't care. He would happily stay indefinitely in the friend zone as long as he got to spend time with her. Eventually, he gave her a key to his place and cleared a drawer.

Days flied by, more awkward mornings being added to the others. Yet, she didn't seem to notice how weird it was actually becoming. There was the one time she got into the bathroom to brush her teeth when he was in the shower. When he turned off the water, she passed him a towel and asked when he'll be ready to take her to the lab. Maybe she doesn't do weird either, he realized. Maybe in the world according to Kirsten, it was completely normal.

On Sunday, they went for a nice stroll. They were enjoying a break at a local café before going back to his apartment. She was fidgeting with her scarf, her hands on the table only inches from his. He took a deep breath, mustering the courage to come clean, after all, how hard could it be? She wasn't against co-workers dating, not to mention they got along fine and already spent most nights together in his bed. This was getting more ridiculous by the minute. The amount of restraint it took him not to touch her or simply hold her hand, it was exhausting.

"Kirsten?" he said, trying his best to act normal. "You okay?"

Her eyes snapped to his face. "I had a great day Cameron, it was really…. enjoyable. You know I don't really socialize. It seems like a waste of time. I was wrong. I'm glad I met you," hesitant, she placed her hand on his, her eyes begging.

No, Kirsten doesn't beg, he thought, I'm imagining things. As if to prove him wrong, her thumb grazed the back of his hand, stroking it lightly. And for whatever insane reason, he froze. "My pleasure, darling. I had a great time today."

"And we found your special shoes!" she smiled, not letting go of his hand.

"Not special, custom made," he said, trying to smile back and miserably failing. He took a deep breath. "Listen Stretch, I…"

"Hey, look who's here!" A familiar voice interrupted him. His hands retreated under the table. "What are you two love birds doing?"

"Hi guys! We went shopping for Cameron," Kirsten beamed at the pair. They grabbed two chairs and immediately settled down on each side of their small table. "I had no idea so many hair products for men even existed."

Camille chuckled, ignoring Cameron's glare. "Linus, go get us something to drink, man. I'm parched. You guys want anything?"

The evening rolled on and they eventually parted ways with Kirsten deciding to tag along with Camille. He went back to his apartment feeling beat. The next morning, after an awful night tossing and turning, he didn't know what to do. She seemed happy to be just a friend. He wasn't so sure he was ready to accept it, he thought, glancing at her. He had to end this, either way.

Their briefing was almost finished. Kirsten would stitch into a Jane Doe found on Mulholland Drive. He couldn't wait for this day to be over and talk to her.

"Any questions?" asked Maggie.

"I have one," Camille quipped. "Since when does Kirsten have a boyfriend?"

He hadn't seen that one coming.

 

 

 


End file.
